


The Faith of a Soldier

by doodnoice



Series: When the Sun Rises Again, It'll Be All My Fault [2]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Gender-neutral Reader, Groundhog Day, Injury, M/M, Original Character(s), Paranormal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Reader-Insert, Smut, Threats of Violence, Violence, male reader - Freeform, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodnoice/pseuds/doodnoice
Summary: You're immortal in the worst way possible - dying only to be resurrected and forced to relive the most traumatic months of your life. Even worse, you're the only one aware of the repetition - until you're not.Jacob Seed remembers, too, and in a desperate bid to break the cycle you're forced to work together and secure the county with the hope you'll both survive through to the end.--Jacob Seed/Deputy (Reader)indefinite hold





	1. Uneasy Alliances

Everything hurts. You're bruised, joints and muscles stiff, and as you open your eyes, your temples throb. You groan low in your throat and take your time waking. Slowly, you recount what you can - attempting to differentiate fact from fiction.

It felt like a dream, walking out of Dutch's bunker. The sky was clear - a cool blue with fluffy white clouds. It was beautiful. Calm. It looked like it was going to be a nice day. Joseph had his hands raised, finally, _finally_ surrendering, but you couldn't feel anything- wait- no, that's. Not. Quite. Right...

That was a different time - your most recent repetition where everything was the same except Joseph _remembered_ you, and he was trying to kill you - not that it ended up mattering. Like every time before last, the bombs dropped, and in your hasty escape, you killed yourself and everyone else with an untimely crash. After that, things feel fuzzy. You know you walked out of Dutch's bunker, and you felt good for once, because it was a fresh start, another chance.

Then, you got shot. Everything after that is completely lost on you.

As if summoned by your thoughts, a sharp stab of pain radiates out from your sore shoulder, forcing a quiet hiss from your chapped lips. You blink tiredly, eyes feeling simultaneously swollen and sunken into your head as if you've just had the worst sleep of your life. You glance at your dominant arm and find it suspended in a cloth sling. On instinct, you move your uninjured arm to check the damage, only to find your wrist cuffed, tugging sharp against a thick wooden armrest.

You freeze, staring at your bound hand in a panic before you attempt to get up to move. Your legs, however, are constricted, too, tied deftly to the legs of the chair you're sat on, and it strikes you then how strange this entire situation is.

This has never happened to you before. In fact, everything leading up to this moment has never happened, and you're at the point that you can't even remember the first real time something brand new occurred. Your heartbeat picks up, stamping hard in your chest, though you're unsure if it's from fear or excitement - you're not sure which would be worse.

You take a good look around, curious and wide eyed as you take in the new scenery. This place, wherever you are, is definitely new. You may or may not have even let out a little blasé "huh", as you glance around.

As far as you can tell, you're in a small, four-corner room that may have been an office or bedroom of some kind before it was cleared out and apparently repurposed as some sort of holding or interrogation room. There isn't any furniture at all, at least, as far as you can tell; there's not even a table or tray for torture equipment, both of which you've come to almost expect when passing out and waking up in random locations.

The walls are concrete, peeling yellowed paint in jagged strips and crumbles. Diagonal from you, at the furthest wall, is a single, rusty metal door. Heavy duty. Probably locked and tough to break out of, even if you aren't injured and without your usual tools. There's a window behind you, though - you can feel the gentle warmth of the fall sun beating against your back, but by the shadows it casts in the otherwise dank and dim room, you can tell that it's barred.

Holding your breath, you listen closely and hear the muffled sound of yelling, maybe even some barking. If you listen harder, you can even make out the slow, mesmerizing croon of the Platters, their song setting your teeth on edge. Your hands go clammy, muscles twitching before you force yourself to calm down.

Breathing slow, you focus on the steady rise and fall of your chest and hum to yourself in an attempt to drown out the droning haze that threatens to redden your vision. You've gotten better at resisting it over the past few cycles - it's all about taking countermeasures by essentially brainwashing yourself into following a different pattern when the song comes on. It helps, too, when it's not the music box that's directly singing to you. Something about it makes it almost impossible to ignore, but you've never been able to figure it out after you kill Jacob. It always ends up destroyed somehow.

As you hum to yourself, head bopping side to side gently so as to not irritate your shoulder, you come to the relatively safe conclusion that you're either at St. Francis Veteran's Center or one of the other training grounds Jacob has scattered throughout in the Whitetails. It's a good thing to know as it keeps you from getting disoriented and gives you an edge for when you escape Jacob's capture. You've long since memorized the mountains, and it'll be easy enough to find the Militia and cool down a bit before Jacob can send his Chosen out on the hunt for you.

-

You're not sure how long you spend alone in that small room. Time passes almost syrupy when you have no exact means of measuring it yourself besides the fading light and heat at your back as the sun shifts behind the compound. It's around late afternoon by the time the door opens, revealing none other than Jacob Seed.

Although you should have been expecting him considering you're something of a hot commodity and- that's not actually true, is it? In this timeline, repetition- _whatever_ , you didn't get the chance to do much more than leave Dutch's bunker before you were ambushed. How did Jacob even know you were there?

Your memories come back to you in small fragments, but enough that you piece together the weight of your situation: _you jerk backwards, falling onto your back as a bullet rips through your shoulder. A shadow falls over you and a face-_ Jacob _comes into view._

" _Did you miss me_ , Rook?"

You're snapped out of your reverie at the cool drawl of his voice, much too close, as he walks past you with an intentionally cruel pat to your injured shoulder. You hear the unpleasant scraping sound of a heavy wooden chair being dragged against cracked linoleum before Jacob rounds you, setting the chair in front of you with only just enough space between so that he can sit comfortably without touching you, but could just as easily reach forward and clock you in the jaw.

When he settles, the proximity is both disconcerting and eerily familiar, though you have a feeling that that's exactly what he's going for.

"I believe I asked you a question, _Rookie_." He spits out your name like a curse, but his usual gaunt and bedraggled features don't so much as express even the vaguest hint of anger.

You hesitate, trying to fit together the words for the confusion encompassing. He asked if you missed him, does that mean he remembers you?

At your silence, Jacob shifts, sitting up straight as he observes you, "I guess it doesn't matter. It's been a while since I last saw you, but of course, you don't remember that-"

"I remember you, Jacob," you cut in, bluntly throwing caution to the wind in the face of all his cryptic hints. In the stunned silence that practically turns Jacob to ice, you follow, "I remember _everything-_ " you don't allow yourself to think about the potential consequences of what you say next; the words slip out of you like an overflown sink. "I... I killed you. I killed  _everyone_. And it doesn't matter how sorry I am, or how tired, or what I do differently, because it always happens the same way. We all die one way or another, and then it starts all over again."

The quiet is deafening, so much so that you can almost hear your own heartbeat. The noises outside don't even seem to filter in here anymore, somehow completely absent despite the fact you spent the past however long trying to drown out even the barest hints of the sounds out there.

Jacob stares at you, the intensity of his slate-hued gaze stalling the breath in your lungs. The furrow between his brows deepens, and the tired darkness beneath his eyes only grows darker by their narrowing. He searches your face, studying every inch of your somewhat perturbed expression like he's looking for something - a lie, probably.

The thought leaves an unpleasant taste in your mouth, sort of... irritating you - calling back to times in the past where you attempted to explain your situation to your friends, maybe even somewhat hopeful that they, too, understood your plight, only to be called 'funny', at best, 'high' at worst.

You daringly meeting Jacob's challenge head-on. You'll be damned if you let yourself appear meek - not when even the tiniest hint of discomfort could be misconceived as a falsehood. You lift your chin, though bite your tongue to keep from voicing your offense. Despite the peculiarity of your supposed shared circumstance, you don't fool yourself into thinking that this at all could make you friends. In fact, this realization might make Jacob _more_ hostile to you, in which case, you'll need to be as able as you possibly can be in order to escape.

Apparently having found what he was looking for, Jacob allows himself to fall back into his chair in a fashion that almost seems relieved.

With his shoulders lax and his legs spread apart, Jacob takes a moment to glance away, no longer appearing to hold you in such antagonistic light. His repose lasts maybe one, two minutes before he's sitting up with a low groan and pulling out the hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He stretches forward and you immediately jerk back, anxiety constricting your throat in a single dry clump.

Noticing this, Jacob scoffs, reaching down with his knife, slipping it between the thick, rough rope binding your left ankle, and cutting it away with one swift slice. He cuts the other away, too, before once more sitting straight, eyeing you with a slight, closed-lipped smile, "Your eyes get any wider than that and they'll fall right out of that pretty little head of yours, Deputy."

You stare at him confused and unsure, not bothering to respond to his patronizing comment, and instead choosing to address his concerning immediate willingness to believe you. "That's it? That's all it takes for you to let me go?"

Jacob raises a brow at you, "Let you go? Is that what you think I'm gonna do?" Jacob shakes his head and sheathes his knife before retrieving a ringlet of keys from his pocket that just barely glint in the fading afternoon sun. He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he answers your question, "Listen, Rookie, I don't know about you, but this is the first time someone besides me realizes what's going on. You know what that means?" He doesn't wait for you to respond, "It means that things are changing, and I've done this routine bullshit too long to sit around twiddling my thumbs wondering what happens next. I have a plan, and since I'm assuming I won't have to torture you in order for you to cooperate, we could end this thing before it even starts.

"Now, I'm gonna un-cuff you from that chair so we can better discuss this...  _predicament_  we find ourselves in, but if you attack me, or if I find out you're lying, there won't be enough of you left to feed the Judges. Do you understand me?"

At his threat, a spark of defiance and nerves shoot through you, though for the sake of finding out more about this plan of his - 'cause let's face it, he's a lot more prepared than you currently are to face this problem, you swallow your pride and reassure him saying, "I promise I'm not lying and I won't attack you, Jacob."

"Words don't mean anything unless you turn them into action," he quips unimpressed and rather matter-of-factly as he sorts through each of his keys to find the one for your cuffs, "Besides, I'm not giving you a choice."

"Even if you did, I'd still be telling the truth."

At your statement, Jacob meets your eyes, his own boring into yours with an unreadable depth to them. He doesn't respond, though, instead choosing to unlock your wrist in one deft key turn.

Once you're free, Jacob stands and pulls his chair back, giving you space to move comfortably. His sudden humanization sends you through a loop, hiking up your blood pressure as an uncertain fear creeps in. This could be some sort of elaborate ruse to get you to let your guard down before he has you tortured and killed. It'd be cruel and sounds ridiculous even to you, but you wouldn't put it past him.

Jacob, however, the busy man that he is, sighs, rolls his eyes, and sneers at you as if he knows that it's your skepticism that impedes your movement rather than the discomfort of having sat for untold hours on a hard wooden chair. "Come on, let's get it moving, Deputy. I'm not gonna hurt ya'. We gotta talk about this shit while there's still daylight and we're running out fast."

You glare at him, but don't say anything, instead focusing on standing up. Your knees wobble as the blood rushes back through your legs more freely. The shakiness of your limbs and the weakness in your less dominant arm forces you back down harshly, earning you a disinterested head-shake from Jacob as he folds his arms over his chest and watches you.

"Really? That's all it takes for you to fall back on your ass like some pathetic doe? A few hours in solitary and you're acting like I had someone beat you-"

"You _shot_ me." You bite back, moving to stand again, fighting against the sway in your legs in an admittedly weak show of bravado.

Jacob glowers, "And you _killed_ me - more than once - sometimes even after my baby brother."

The cold edge to his words quickly has you shutting up, your face flushing, though you can't tell if it's because you're embarrassed or indignant. Jacob doesn't give you the chance to respond, uncrossing his arms and turning on his heel to unlock and push open the metal door at the front of the room.

You follow after him, limping slightly at a strange twinge in your ankle. Jacob casts you an annoyed sidelong glance when you end up lagging too far behind, prompting you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from insulting him.

When you arrive at your destination, Jacob holds the door open for you and as you pass you can't help but mutter bitterly under your breath, still limping, "You sure you didn't beat me?"

Jacob shuts the door, not bothering to lock it, before making his way past you and to a large polished oak wood desk. You stand back, split between looking around the room and watching him curiously as he begins pulling out piles of uneven papers from somewhere in or beneath his desk.

This is probably Jacob's personal office. It's fitting considering it appears to have been the office for whoever functioned as the head of the Veteran's Center. There are old photos and art pieces adorning the walls, and all of them depict some historical war event or the people who were presumably part of it. There are some worn leather arm chairs, a creaky looking sofa, and a filthy, dated, though possibly very expensive, throw rug in the center of the floor. Books, bookshelves, boxes, and file cabinets are all pressed and scattered around the spacious room in a chaotic sort of order. Most of the stuff looks like they're just left overs from whoever was here before, but there are some small things thrown about - a raggedy shirt or the patchy skinned fur of a Judge wolf hanging off the side of a cabinet- that you recognize immediately as belonging to Jacob.

Something glitters in all the mess and clutter, catching your eye. After stealing a quick peek at Jacob only to find he's still picking through papers, you hobble towards it. Upon closer inspection, you find that it's a letter opener. It's short, ornate, and was probably used more as a decorative antique than for its actual function, but it's sharp and metallic, and considering you're practically in bed with one of your worst enemies, you'd feel better if you had even just this for a little self-assurance.

You pocket it slyly, tucking it safely away in your front pocket for easy access before you smooth around the room, looking over random bits and bobbles in an attempt to look casual while also searching for anything else you could borrow and use to your benefit. You find a box cutter and slip that, too, into your back pocket this time.

Jacob whistles, short but loud enough to make you jump and garner your attention. He motions you forward, grunting an impatient, "Come," as he sorts through the sudden spread of papers over his desk.

You run your tongue over your teeth, once more forcing yourself to ignore his degradation as you quietly seethe - _what the hell does he think you are? One of his dogs?_ Still, you can't help the irate sigh you let out when you finally shamble your way over to him, looking down at your offending ankle with a scowl before returning your attention to Jacob who is... glaring at you.

"What?" You snap, "I'm not one of your lapdogs. I'm not going to run up to you at breakneck speed just because you whistled."

Jacob's expression softens into one of apathy, one brow raised in mild acknowledgement, though he shows no hint of real concern. He looks back at the papers in his hands, "You should get that looked at after I finish debriefing you. You're a liability enough with that dead arm of yours."

"You say that like I wanted you to shoot me." You respond, the venom in your words lessening as you begin to take an interest in the messily drawn notes and maps? Jacob has lining his desk.

"With the attitude you're giving me right now, it'll be a miracle if I don't do it again." When you look up at him, visibly bristled, Jacob chuckles, but the sound lacks any sort of warmth, "What? You can't appreciate a good joke, Dep?"

Shaking your head once, you snatch up a piece of paper that would look like a grocery shopping list if you could read half of what it says, and frown. "Considering our history, _Jake_ , 'jokes' like that will only get _you_ killed. Again." You don't look up even as Jacob stills, glaring daggers into the side of your face, "You'd think a smart man like you would've learned by now who he can and can't fuck with-"

Jacob grabs you, turning and pushing your prone form up against the edge of his desk. One of his hands grips your injured arm while his other circles your throat, digging roughly into the flesh there, cutting off your oxygen in one large palm. "You remember what I said about that attitude of yours, Dep?" He lets the question hang, teeth grit as he pushes closer, hold tightening to the point of eye-watering pain- "I'm not one of your little pawns, I don't take disrespect lightly."

Your eyes narrow and you poke the side of his stomach with the tip of your fancy letter opener. Jacob looks down, scoffs, and releases your throat. You inhale gulps of air, gasping through the ache in your neck, though you refuse to lower your weapon or turn your gaze, "Seems like we... like we have something in common... after... after all."

Jacob doesn't say a word, though his posture is much less defensive, he in no way appears to be comfortable. The air between you is tense after you finally catch your breath. You stare one another down, neither of you willing to concede, instead allowing the intense hostility to build, knowing that there's probably only one way to solve this, but before either of you can make a move someone knocks on the door.

Your eyes widen, but you don't look away from Jacob. His lips tighten as he glances over your shoulder and then back to you. "You might wanna put that away before you get yourself in the sort of trouble you can't luck your way out of, _honey_."

Your frown deepens, "Call me 'honey' again, Seed, and I swear to God I'll-"

"The Father left an urgent message, sir. He received the news you sent out that the Deputy was caught and-"

You turn to look at the door, guard dropping at the familiar voice. "Staci?"

Of course, much to your dismay, Jacob uses your distraction to his advantage and quickly disarms you, twisting the letter opener from your hand - "Hey!" - and tossing it somewhere towards the back of the room as he smooths by you. 

Jacob yanks the door open and drags Staci in by the front of his shirt, causing the man to immediately cower into himself.

"What call? Who authorized a call to Joseph about the Deputy?" When Staci only looks up at Jacob with panicked eyes, Jacob shakes him, " _Answer me, Peaches_."

Pratt shakes his head, blinking rapidly as he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, "I-I-I I don't know! There was a call- Joseph-"

" _The Father_ ," Jacob corrects, slowly losing his bluster, though not the brutal bite to his tone.

"The Father called saying he's  _pleased_ that you brought the Deputy into the- the flock and that- that he's going to pay a visit and- and-"

You practically fall forward in your rush to tear Jacob from Staci, "Alright, that's enough."

Despite your attempts to pry Jacob's white-knuckled grip from Pratt's collar, he refuses to move, and Staci's sudden realization that you're present only seems to make his anxiety worse.

"Rook?" He asks, eyes wide as he looks at you almost dazedly.

You ignore him and focus on Jacob, uninjured arm reaching to your back pocket for your box cutter, "Let him go, Seed."

Jacob looks at you, baring his teeth in a contemptuous scowl before pulling away from both you and Staci and storming off.

The moment he's out of view, Staci grabs you and pulls you into a hug, practically folding into you as he presses his face into your hair. "God, Rook, I didn't think I'd see you again. Ever." He pulls back to look you in the eyes, but doesn't let go or step out of your space, "Everyone thought you were dead. They- the Peggies- they were running bets on if you drowned or if a bear or a group of angels _ate_ you. They were saying you were gonna bloat and wash up on the shore and-"

It breaks your heart seeing your friend like this. Even if he was a douche to you before, and even though he can't remember how close you became in past cycles - sharing teenage memories and playing late night card games over warm beer and weed when neither of you could sleep - you can't help but feel anger for him at the injustice of his confidence and pride being stripped away.

"It's OK, I'm alright, you're alright, let's just-"

"Hey!" Someone - one of Jacob's Chosen shouts from the doorway, interrupting your reunion. Staci clears his throat and immediately pushes away from you, straightening into a practiced military-ready stance. The Chosen's eyes narrow, "Take 'em to the medic before showing 'em a room, Jacob's orders."

Staci tilts his chin up, jaw clenched as he replies, "Right. Anything else?"

"Yeah, actually..." the Chosen starts, eyeing you and Staci up and down with a judgmental glare, "Keep your and your deputy friend's pants on - no funny shit. You're part of the project, now, and we can't afford to deal with any of the repercussions before The Collapse."

Staci looks at you, shocked, before back to the Chosen, "That's not... That... Understood." Staci nods once stiffly, "Is that all?"

The Chosen returns the gesture before leaving. You and Staci don't linger, the aforementioned man grabbing your uninjured arm and hurrying you along through the corridors. You frown, wanting to pull away from him due to the fact he's pretty much forcing you to walk on your injured ankle, but you can see this sort of manic worry in his eye that makes you think twice. "Uh, Staci, you mind if we slow down a bit?"

Staci glances at you, a flash of apology on his face before it's replaced with a stony visage. "Sorry, can't. Something's wrong. Jacob..." Staci trails off, quieting suddenly.

You frown, noticing the way his fingers flex around your arm when you breeze by a group of Peggies who only sneer at the both of you as you pass. When they're far enough away, you encourage him to explain, "What do you mean something's wrong? Staci-"

"I... I can't tell you right now. Too many potential ears. Just know that there's someone even worse than Jacob." Your eyes widen, surprised but doubtful, though you don't do anything but stare at Staci, listening intently as he continues, "When we get you a room, I'll tell you what I think is going on. Deal?" He looks down at you with a smile - it's forced - so very obviously forced -, but it's a lot better than you expected to get from him so soon.

"Deal," you respond, ignoring the strange chill that runs down your spine as you round a corner, spotting a shadow out of your peripheral vision. When you turn to look, it's gone. You blink hard and shake your head, wondering briefly if you're finally losing it before Staci hurriedly ushers you into a room that smells like antiseptic and soap and closes the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter to be posted on the 22nd. See you then~


	2. Trust Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have triggers read the tags, please

You bite back a hiss as the Peggie doctor rotates your ankle, testing its mobility with a tight-lipped scowl. He scans from your ankle up, taking in your stiff posture and strained frown before prodding the sensitive tendon once with his thumb. He drops your limb back on the flimsy medical cot you're sat on and clasps his hands over his thighs, giving you a unimpressed half shrug. "Well, _obviously_  you've got a light sprain here. Might be Grade 1 based on the minimal swelling, but I doubt it. No use in babying it and wastin' supplies; it'll heal on its own."

The doctor looks over your shoulder, presumably at Pratt, before his eyes widen and promptly narrow. He grumbles, shakes his head with a tired sigh, and pushes his stool back, turning to face a counter lined with drawers and cabinets. He pulls one open, takes something out, then slides back in front of you. He unrolls a spool of fresh medical tape and eyes your ankle, making a pointed effort to not look either you or Pratt in the face.

You glance over your shoulder, curious as to what exactly prompted this sudden change in demeanor, but Pratt only gives you a quick, unassuming smile before he's glaring the doctor down, arms crossed and legs spread in an authoritative stance. His attitude is at a stark contrast to how he appeared with Jacob or even with the Chosen that had come in to tell him to take you to the doctor. You wonder idly if that's a change implicated by Jacob's remembrance, or if he simply didn't have enough time to terrorize Pratt while he was preoccupied with you.

The Peggie doctor clears his throat, causing you to return your attention to him. Your ankle is wrapped, professional and neat with just the right amount of pressure to soothe the swelling, though you suppose you wouldn't expect much else considering the way Pratt looks about ready to bite the man's head off at even the smallest hint of disrespect.

Suddenly, Pratt's radio crackles and he answers it, quickly making his way out of the room after sending the Peggie doctor one last warning glare.

The doctor just rolls his eyes and begins addressing you, "Since I couldn't just recommend R&R considering your circumstances, that wrap I did should keep it stable enough for whatever... activities you might find yourself participatin' in. Still, I don't suggest you push it just in case that ligament of yours goes past being overstretched and just up and-" the Peggie makes a crude 'pop' sound, mimicking a breakage with his hands, "snaps."

You hear Pratt reenter the room and the doctor clears his throat, pretending to look disinterested as he pushes back to return the tape back into the drawer. "Y'know, I don't really know what Jacob wants with you - don't really wanna know -, but with the way things are going, I doubt you'll be sittin' pretty on the sidelines for long."

"Enough." Pratt walks up until he's standing directly beside you, hovering threateningly over the Peggie, "Just do you fuckin' job. I didn't bring them in here so you can tell them about shit you don't know nothing about."

His lack of hesitancy is shocking, especially since you've never seen him act this way after being kidnapped and tortured by Jacob. You wonder... Maybe...

"Hey, Pratt?"

Pratt looks at you, tense expression only just barely softening.

You tilt your head, hoping against hope that maybe he knows, too. Maybe it's not just you and Jacob. "Do you... remember anything from before?"

He frowns, clearly confused, an expression you've long since grown used to from previous attempts at asking your friends if they're going through the same thing you are. "What? Rook, what does that- what are you talking about?"

"I just..." It's useless, you'll only make yourself look like a fool if you keep going on, "Never mind."

Pratt lingers on you before shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest, standing resolutely once more. "Just make sure they're in as best condition as they can be, doc. You can do that much, right?"

The doctor glowers, standing swiftly as if to challenge Pratt, but all he does is round the medical slab with his back turned towards your fellow deputy and motion to your slung arm, "You mind if I take a look? Gotta make sure those stitches ain't infected or else Jacob-"

"They don't care. Do your check so we can go. Jacob's expecting them."

The doctor rolls his eyes and begins the process of unslinging and unwrapping your arm while muttering under his breath, "I'm _sure_ he is."

Pratt glares before you can even begin to take offense, "Excuse me?"

The Peggie doctor stays quiet, thankfully no longer invested in further provoking Pratt the more he focuses on observing your wound. Your arm tingles and aches, itching where you can feel the stitches tug against sore and irritated skin. The doctor moves around the small office and procures a damp sterile towelette, a single packet of antibiotic ointment, and a roll of bandages.

He cleans around the stitches, being gentle despite earlier showing how little he thinks of you, and proceeds from there to redress your wound. "You're lucky it wasn't worse," the doctor starts as if to ease the hostility in the room and make you feel more comfortable while he works. 

"Oh, yeah?" You say, taking the bait, not particularly wanting to focus on the tiny tremors of pain you feel every time he swipes over your injury.

"Yeah. I guess Jacob wasn't tryna kill you or put you out of commission for too long. At the angle he shot you, the bullet went clean through. It tore through your upper bicep, but that's about all."

"It doesn't feel like that's all..."

The Peggie doctor huffs something like a laugh under his breath as he dries the area, begins applying the ointment, and finally the bandages. "To be honest with you, Deputy, any sort of gun shot wound you can survive from is gonna feel a lot worse than it medically is." You try not to roll your eyes; you know, probably better than most, what exactly he's talking about "Technically, I _could_ classify this as a graze - a deep laceration, because nothing too important got punctured. You still don't want to be moving this arm around none or else the stitches might open up."

Once he's done, he helps you back into the sling, giving you a small almost apologetic grimace when you wince at the way your muscles protest. "Assuming it doesn't get infected, after the stitches are gone, I'd give it another week, maybe two before you can build your strength back up to where it needs to be."

You nod and begin to get off of the medical cot and follow Pratt as he edges towards the door only to stop when the Peggie doctor lets out a surprised exclamation and waves you away from the exit. You approach him as he digs through the counter. He pulls out a packet of the same ointment he gave you before, a couple of disinfecting wipes, a compressed packet of bandages, and a single packet of pain pills.

"Just in case." He says cryptically, shoving all of the items in your hands and then waving you off. As you and Pratt leave, the doctor shouts, "See you six days from now... so long as you're not dead!"

Pratt slams the door shut and taps your shoulder as he walks briskly past you, regaining that particular brand of anxiety he only started exhibiting after the county went up in flames, "C'mon, I'll get you something to eat and then I'll tell you what's going on."

With nothing else to do, you shove the items into whatever pockets they fit in and get moving, your ankle and arm feeling at the very least fresher than when you first woke up. As you follow Pratt, now able to move more freely, you think back to what exactly the doctor meant, and what plans Jacob has for you now that he knows you're both (supposedly) on the same side.

Pratt stops at a door and ushers you in quickly. Once inside, you realize it's a bedroom of sorts, mostly meaning it has a bed and, well... it _is_ a room.

"Stay here," Pratt says, "Lock the door after I leave and whatever you do, don't open it unless it's me or-or Jacob."

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before he's out the door. You stare after him, but dutifully do as he says. You have a strange feeling that something big is about to happen, but you're not sure what. You're on uncharted territory, again, and as frightening as it is, you still can't help but feel relieved. Maybe this time when things change, they'll stay changed - hopefully in the right way.

\---

The 'food' Pratt gives you isn't so much food as it is grey slop that you have a sneaking suspicion is just protein powder and oatmeal that's been boiled down to mush. Honestly, you're mostly thankful it isn't that surprise "meat" Jacob would make you eat in the past. The reminder of it still makes you shudder. You try not to think too hard about it.

It doesn't take long for you or Pratt to finish off your respective meals, taking in spoonfuls of clumpy grey stuff despite the bland and somehow unfortunately not-bland taste, before you polish it off with a full canteen of water.

When you're done, Pratt takes your plate and his and sets them both off to the side. He gets up to check the door, making sure it's locked, before sitting back down beside you on the bed. You look at him curiously, waiting for him to start, "So..."

"I don't know how he didn't know, but Jacob- someone is trying to take him down. It's been happening ever since he brought you here. Rook," Pratt looks at you, eyes wide and brows furrowed in distress, "I think it's 'cause of how he's not doing the thing- the-the torture on you; someone ratted him out. Jacob didn't want to tell Joseph you were here. For some reason, he wanted to keep it secret, but somehow Joseph found out anyway, and now he's sending the Overseer to make sure Jacob's still in line with the Project, and if that happens I don't think we'll be safe-"

You blink, "Wait, hold on, the 'Overseer'? Who the fuck's the Overseer? I thought it was just the Seeds we had to worry about?"

Pratt looks at you like you grew a third head, "Is this why you were asking me if I remember? Did you... do you have a head injury? I swear to God if that fucking doctor _prick_ didn't-"

Although you feel as though you should be offended at his implication, you're way more concerned with the introduction of this new person that apparently even Jacob wasn't aware of. "No, I don't have a head injury, at least I don't think I do. Just... I need a refresher course on Peggies 101. Starting with this Overseer douche. Who are they?"

"Alright, well," Pratt shifts, getting more comfortable as he starts to lay out all the facts, "We don't actually know much about them. They're kind of like Eden's Gate's boogieman-... or woman? I don't know. When the Marshal came to the department, he only had their title, what they did in the project, and the fact they're supposed to be close to Joseph. Rook, you gotta remember that? Hudson called him out on it in front of the Sheriff and everything."

You try to ignore the uneasy nagging feeling in your gut at not remembering _any_ of it and nod to encourage Pratt to continue, "Keep going, I think I'm starting to remember... What else?"

"That's honestly about it." Pratt concedes, clearly frustrated, "Aside from John, Faith, Jacob, and Joseph, the Overseer is the only other power the Project recognizes. I've even heard some of the Peggies say the Overseer is above even the Heralds. They're almost considered to be on Joseph's level."

Now, you're even more confused and worried, "Just who exactly is this person? Isn't Joseph supposed to be their messiah or some shit? How can there be an equal power to that?"

"Well, Joseph is their Father, but the Overseer, whoever they are, is like their _rule and order_. The Overseer enforces all of the Project's laws by force, and they even have Joseph's personal backing to check and punish the Heralds if they aren't following Joseph's word. And if Joseph is sending the Overseer here, that means Jacob is going to have to choose between doing whatever mission he needs you for, and going against his family and the Project. And I don't think-"

The door slams open, and everything moves so fast. You and Pratt jump off of the bed, Pratt immediately goes to pull out his gun, but it's quickly knocked out of his hand as he's subdued. He screams, telling you to run, but one well-aimed punch to your injured arm has you falling back, ears ringing as the pain takes your breath away.

You're gasping, trying to get to your feet as you hear someone knock Pratt out and begin dragging him away. You don't even make it halfway up before you're punched in the jaw, picked up by your shirt, then punched again. You think the corner of your brow splits by the way something wet drips down your eye, but you're so dizzy that you can feel yourself losing consciousness before you actually do.

You're picked up, and tossed over someone's shoulder. Lazily, you lift your head and see three shadows standing at the door way.

"Was all that really necessary?" Jacob says with such an apathetic tone you wish you slit his throat open when you had the chance. You can't believe you might have actually entertained an alliance with him.

"Yes, well, if they're as formidable as you say they are-" this new voice you don't recognize steps closer and lifts your chin, but your double vision and the slowly encroaching darkness isn't making their face clear enough for you to see. Their eyes, though, are haunting. They look almost... pure white. "-then we should take every possible precaution we can. Can't have them running around and joining that little thorn in our side that calls themselves the Resistance."

"I said they were strong, not that they were invincible-"

They drop your face, "You sound almost worried, Brother Jacob. Is there perhaps another reason why you wished to keep this particular sinner all tucked away to yourself?"

Jacob growls, you hear shifting, the sounds of a several guns raising. "You are _not_ my family. Don't _ever_ call me 'brother'."

" _Brother_ , we must keep ourselves levelheaded in the face of the snake who wishes to divide us." Joseph speaks suddenly, calmly, coolly. "The duty of the Overseer is clear, they are just performing as God has intended. Do you not trust God, Jacob?"

The silence is deafening. You don't think you ever expected to hear Joseph lightly threaten Jacob, of all people.

"I know you are not faithful, not in the way I would wish you to be, but you are not a lost cause. There is still hope, yet, for you, but it cannot be found in redeeming this sinner. Destruction is their path, and those who follow them will only sooner meet their end." Joseph pauses, and the quiet between makes the throbbing in your head worse. You close your eyes. "Take them away and throw them in the deepest crevice our Project has. They will not escape their retribution. _Not this time._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> think i settled on a good update schedule, so, bet on at least one new chapter every saturday.


	3. Lines Crossed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: violence, blood and gore

You're getting pretty sick and tired of waking up in strange places.Your head is pounding when you wake up; the entire left side of your face aching and swollen tight enough that you can feel the bulge of your bruised eyelids threatening to close. You groan low in your throat, blinking away the blur in your vision as you regain your bearings.

You're tied by your ankles and your wrists, lying on your side on the ground with your injured arm pressed against smooth, cool concrete. Your arm throbs, aching deep between muscle and bone and when you try to move it, you let out an involuntary hiss at the sharp sting that follows. Groaning, you fall onto your front, distracted by the way your injured arm sticks and pulls from the ground and end up unintentionally slamming your nose and forehead onto the floor with a pained whine.

You breathe deep, giving yourself a moment before you slide your knees up beneath your stomach and use your core muscles and head to help push you into a sitting position. Once up, you maneuver your feet to one side and twist your torso in a way that allows you to dig your fingers in between the knots of the rope at your ankles, testing their strength.

Unfortunately, the ropes are thick and tied too well for you to be able to simply pull them apart. You frown, looking around the desolate and dark room for some sort of tool you could use to your advantage, but come up empty. It takes a few seconds before you remember the items you stuffed into your jeans. Although you realize it's unlikely the Peggies left you with much of anything, you still check, hoping that they were careless or in such a rush to imprison you that they forgot to pat you down.

When you check, you're happily surprised to find all the items you stashed away still with you. You pull them out using your index and middle fingers, tossing medical supplies onto the ground so you can reach what you're really looking for: the box cutter. When you manage to get a good grip on it, sliding the knife open, you can't help the satisfied grin that finds its way onto your face - it seems your luck hasn't ran out just yet.

It takes you less than a minute to cut through the ties at your ankles, and only a little more than that to contort and finally cut the binds around your wrists. The moment you're free, you let out a relieved sigh before checking yourself for any additional injuries.

Your ankle doesn't seem any worse for wear, but your face and arm are both screwed to hell. Your arm is the worst off with the stitches having burst halfway open to reveal a leaking, ugly gash that will probably get infected if you don't find some way to close it soon. Though, without a suture, the best you can do is disinfect and wrap it using one hand and your mouth.

It's an endeavor, but once you're done, you dry swallow the pain pills you were given, then stand and size up your surroundings.

The room is dim, lit only by a single industrial light on the ceiling, and from what you can tell, it's completely desolate. There is no furniture or windows and the only thing that assures you that you are, in fact, in a room and not some cornered off concrete box is the thick metal door in the corner locked by a large turning wheel.

Just by the door alone, you can tell you're in one of the Seeds' bunkers. You'd guess it's Jacob's since the last thing you remember was being in "his" region, but you really could be anywhere. There isn't anything in the room, so you have no hints as to where you can possibly be.

Since you're locked in, your only means to escape is to wait for someone to show up and give you the chance you need. Armed with only your box cutter, you know you'll need to be stealthy and quick, so you hide behind the door, knowing that in all the bunkers the doors only ever open inward, and wait.

\--

By the time someone finally comes around, you're anxious, bouncing up and down quietly as you follow the push of the door. There's a second of stillness, your blood thrumming as you watch what appears to be a Chosen enter the room. The moment they're within arm's reach, you pounce, turning them and using their body as a shield to protect yourself from any other Peggies that may have followed them here to provide back up. When you realize there's no one else, you pull the Chosen inside and try to push them up against the wall, your box cutter gleaming in the low light.

Of course, it's a struggle - with the Chosen, it always is. They fight back and you attack them like a rabid dog, baring teeth and grunting as you wrestle with them, trying to tear your wrists free from their grip.

It's a push and pull, both of you using your strength to either shove or yank the other into a prone position. You're on the wall, then they are, and with your injured arm, it's a battle you're quickly losing, unable to fully match their power or stamina. They push you hard once onto the ground, but you hastily retaliate, sweeping their legs out before straddling them.

In one quick movement, you dig the box cutter into their throat, cutting raggedly as they struggle and sputter beneath you before finally going still. You stare at them, watching their blood pool in a slowly growing puddle when you get an idea.

Moving quickly, you rip their ski mask off and throw it to the side. You tear off their vest and shirts, making quick work of their boots - ignoring their pants for obvious reasons - until the only thing that's left is a pallid body lying at an unnatural angle, smeared blood and other bodily fluids steadily leaking from the corpse.

You wipe off what blood you can, thankful that the coat they wear has a sort of leathery quality to it, and put their clothes on top of your own. When you're finally dressed, you go to pull on their mask when you realize it's almost unsalvageable - torn and so drenched in blood that it feels heavy.

You try to wring out what you can, swallowing at the grotesque feel and smell before putting it on, then the hood of your jacket over it. The metallic stench is enough to make you want to vomit, but it'll have to do until you leave the bunker.

Breathing through your mouth, you exit the room, trying your best to keep a strong gait even though your ankle is beginning to hurt, again. You pass by Peggies who appear none the wiser, most of whom barely spare you a glance, seeming to be rushing towards something deeper in the bunker, but you're unsure what.

Just as you're climbing the steps to the first floor, you make to walk by a Chosen who does a double take and stops in their hurried trek downstairs to grab your arm.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" He says, staring you dead in the eyes.

You stay quiet, but tilt your head, debating your options.

"Oh, you're one of those quiet guys, huh? Whatever." The Chosen lets go of your arm roughly and nods downstairs. You look around and note the lack of activity around you. "We need to go. There's a meeting, apparently J-"

You strike, kneeing them in the stomach, grabbing their head, and turning them around until they face the closest wall. You smash their face into the concrete - once, twice, until you hear a sickening crunch and feel them go limp. You drop them, quickly check their body for weapons and find a few throwing knives, a compound bow, and a radio. You grab them all and hurry up the stairs, now only a few flights before you reach the outside.

\--

The moment you exit, you brace yourself for anything, expecting the worst, but nothing happens. It's actually uneasily empty outside of the bunker. Where you expect to see at least a few guards, you find empty posts, but instead of lingering to investigate, you get into one of several vehicles parked outside of the bunker and search around for the keys.

Once you find them and shove them into the ignition, your radio kicks on and a eerie voice speaks up:

_"The Deputy has eluded our grasp, taking with them not only the lives of our brothers and sisters, but the sanctity of our Herald Jacob who has since been named an accomplice in their escape."_

You frown as you drive down the winding road, confused as to how they drew that conclusion when your escape was a fluke. You haven't even seen Jacob since he betrayed you at the Veteran's Center.

_"As much as it pains him, the Father has officially put out orders to eliminate their threat for the good of the Project. Deputy Pratt and our former Herald Jacob Seed are now-..."_

The voice trails off, and there's a pause in which you try to wrap your head around what exactly all of it means. Jacob helped Pratt escape? From where and when?

As you drive onto the main roads, you pull off and toss your mask outside of the car, breathing deep. You look around and try to decide where you should go next. You could always visit the Wolf's Den and get some assistance from there. It's probably the closest safe compound, and you could really do with a shower and a change of clothes right about now.

You just need someone they trust to give them a heads up. No use going all that way to their compound only to get shot in the face if they assume you're a Peggie. You reach towards the radio so you can tune in to Dutch, but the voice returns, sounding agitated. You pause, listening in.

_"It appears that we have lost not two sinners, but three. The deputies that were formerly awaiting retribution have since escaped, no doubt part of the orchestration planned by our former Herald, Jacob Seed. Be on the look out for these three. The way to Eden's Gate must be cleared of all those who may stand in our way. Show no mercy."_

Apparently they finally realized you escaped their bunker. You sigh and change the channel, "Hey, Dutch, it's Rook. If you can hear this, I need you to-"

_"Rookie? Is it really you? I just heard the announcement the Peggies made, and after Jacob caught you I thought you were dead."_

You give him a small laugh, "Yeah, well, imagine my surprise walking out of your bunker only to get shot. I was lucky he wasn't trying to kill me."

_"I would have warned you, Dep, but I didn't see anyone there. It's like they knew exactly where the cameras were and hid in their blind spots."_

Turning off-road towards the Den, you nod even though you know he can't see you, "Figures. Jacob's got a keen eye." And a lot of chances to figure the set up out, not that you explain this. "Did they try to get into the bunker?"

_"They sure as shit tried, but that door was meant to withstand a nuclear attack. It's not gonna open just 'cause some dumbasses with too much time on their hands throw some grenades at it."_

You can't help the smile that curls your lips, "Yeah, well, thank God for that, huh?"

_"God ain't got nothing to do with it. That bastard's been gone from here a long time. Anyway, where are you, Dep? Since your equipment went dark a while ago, I can't track you, and I'm assuming you're gonna need some guidance to meet with the other Resistance members and start taking the fight to the Peggies."_

"Yeah, about that, I'm gonna need you to tell the Whitetails I'm on my way to their Den. I found out where it's at, and I don't want to be shot on sight since I'm assuming they don't know my face."

_"You found out where they're hiding? From who?"_

You bite your lip, trying to come up with a quick lie, "Well-"

_"Hold that thought, Dep. Eli just radioed in."_

You slow your truck to a stop already close to the Den. You get out of the truck and take off your Peggie gear, thankful to finally be free from the vague smell of sweat, dirt, and blood. Your ankle aches and your arm is still throbbing, but hopefully someone in the Whitetails can fix you up.

Dutch radios in back to you, _"Rookie, are you close to the Den?"_

You close the truck door and lean on it, "Uh, yeah, why?"

_"Who else knows about the Wolf's Den? Did you tell anyone else?"_

You frown, standing to your full height as you move to round the front of the truck, "Why would I tell anyone about the Wolf's Den? I _just_ found out about it."

_"From who?"_

You pause, cycling through the lies you could tell, but your brain is still stuck back on the radio announcement, "Well, uh, when I was with Jacob, he already knew where they were staying. He told me about them, how he's been watching them for a while,and I.. I think he was trying to defect?"

Dutch goes quiet, and you curse yourself silently. What sort of fucking lie was that? You couldn't have come up with something simpler? You walk back to the driver's side of the truck and lean against it, bouncing your leg nervously. If Dutch thinks you're lying, he'll tell the Whitetails, and in the best case scenario, they take you in and have Tammy torture you to death. After all, it's not like you've done anything to prove your loyalty to the Resistance, yet. Jacob kidnapped you before you could even try. If they get even a hint that you might be brainwashed, or working for the Project, or _both_ , there's no really telling what they'll do.

 _"There's a lot riding on you, Deputy."_ Dutch says cryptically through the radio, _"You're the wildcard that the Project can't pin down, but if you're compromised..."_

Your blood runs cold, _"Compromised?_ Dutch, what the hell are you talking about?"

A pause, then, _"The Militia, they're suspicious of you, and to tell you the truth, Rookie, so am I. There's a lot not adding up, and if you're willing to team up with Jacob Seed, of all people, regardless of whether or not he's being honest about 'defecting'... We can't rely on much except your word, and, no offense, but in this day and age, how far does that really go anymore?"_

Your brows furrow, "What are you saying?"

Dutch sighs, _"I want to believe you, kid, I really do, but until you can prove that you're on the side you say you are, I'm not willing to bet my friends lives on the off chance you're telling the truth"_

"Why the fuck would I lie about going against the Project? They kidnapped me, Dutch! Jacob _shot_ me-"

_"And yet you're his partner, now-"_

"His partner?! I- what?! I never said that!" This has never happened before, Dutch has never let you down, he's never just dropped you like this. He always had your back. Always...

You take a breath to steady yourself and try to reason with him. "I never said I was Jacob's partner I just... I told you what he told me back when he kidnapped me. That's all. What even made you think that? I haven't seen him since before I escaped from his bunker. I'm _alone_ , Dutch."

The admittance hits you like a punch to the gut. You're alone, and you've been alone for so long, now. Jacob's the only one who realizes how much things are changing, but who knows what he's doing, or where he's at, or if he's even reliable anymore. You rest your forearm on the top of the closed driver's side door, "Don't..."

In the reflection of the glass, you see a shadow approaching, running towards you at an angle from behind-

You dodge to the right, but they follow you, dropping to the ground and hovering over you just as a bullet shatters the windows, coming straight through from the other side of the truck. You shield your face from a rain of glass, and then peer up to see Jacob glaring down at you. "Well, you sure took your sweet time getting here."


	4. Never a Dull Moment

Your first instinct is to push Jacob away, but he beats you to the punch, climbing off of you and kneeling, carefully keeping his head lower than the window. Glancing around, he spots the close by Peggie shirt you discarded and picks it up. He bunches it into a ball then chucks it behind himself. A powerful shot rings out, and you instinctively flinch.

Jacob scoffs, "Fucking amateur," and slings his rifle around to his front. Checking the ammunition once and prepping his gun, Jacob finally turns to address you, "Might need your assistance here, Rookie," he rolls his shoulders back as if to loosen them, then sucks his teeth and looks you over with such a particular brand of judgmental bitch that you almost had a flashback to your preteen days. "Well, maybe 'need' is an exaggeration but you might as well make yourself useful at some point."

Sitting up and maneuvering yourself into a squatting position with the same sort of mindfulness Jacob displayed earlier, you glare at the man, choosing to ignore both his attitude and casual insult in favor of coming to better terms with what the hell is going on... matter of fact- "What the hell's going on? How did you get here? How did you know I was here? Where's Pratt? And who the _fuck_ is shooting at us?!"

Jacob rolls his eyes and nods in the direction just over the car you're both hiding behind. "First off, making sure neither of us gets shot by that sniper is my top priority. After we're in the clear, we can play twenty-one questions all night long if you want to, Rookie, but until then, you listen to me."

Your glare worsens, the urge to stick one of your knives through his jugular intensifying with each word he says. He's really going to try to order you around? After everything you've been through? After everything he put you through, multiple times? Forget that it wasn't really _him_ , his likenesses were just as infuriating as he's being right now. You're so tired of his shit - so tired in general that you can't help yourself, "Fuck you, Jacob."

Jacob stills and turns to you with a dark storm raging in his eyes. His lips are taut, and his brows furrowed, his gaze piercing straight through you with an intensity that tells you that if it was practical - if he truly didn't need you like he enjoys pretending he doesn't - he would have killed you a long time ago. He tilts his head, "You really wanna do this, Deputy? Right now?"

You huff, knowing better, but your frustration wins out over reason, "If we're going to be working together, let's get one thing straight, Seed: I don't answer to you." You don't realize you've leaned in close enough to poke your finger at his chest until Jacob's shoving you back. You stumble, landing on your elbow, but you don't stay that way for long.

Jacob grabs you by the chin and brings you forward, his fingers digging into the muscles at the sides of your throat in a way that adds just the right amount of pressure that your breath catches, suddenly very worried he might press his palm in and collapse your trachea.

"And what exactly makes you think I want to work with you? Despite knowing the facts, despite understanding everything that's going on, so far you've been nothing but a hassle to keep alive."

You frown at Jacob, hands clenching his wrist as you try to free yourself while sending him the most venomous scowl you can, given the circumstances, "So, keeping me alive means throwing me into your bunker? Letting your people beat and kidnap me?"

Jacob searches your eyes, though you're not sure what for. An instance of begrudging understanding crosses his features, but it's gone just as quick. He lets go of your throat, though, and it's enough to give you the leeway you need to attack him, the sharp edge of your knife pressing just beneath his chin.

It throws you off when Jacob doesn't even struggle, just looks up at you with a glare and an annoying unbothered countenance, "Now what, Deputy? You gonna kill me?"

You want to tell him that yes, you are, but you and he both know that that would be a lie. What _are_ you doing? What does this even prove? You bite down on your lip and in an attempt to save face, try to come up with a viable reason as to why you jumped him other than your hurt pride. "I need answers, Seed. Not a promise of an explanation tomorrow, I want to know what's going on _now_."

Jacob's eyes narrow, obviously seeing through your poor reasoning for what it is: an excuse to be a dick. "You're being childish. There's a sniper out there just waiting for one of us to pop our heads up, and right now I know their position, but in a few moments they might move to get a better read on us and our slight advantage is gone and we're dead. Do you want that? To die again? Who knows, maybe this time it'll be for real, or, better yet, it'll go back to the way it was before: dying and waking up and being the only person who knows what's really going on."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, knowing he's right, but not really wanting to admit it. You're being stupid, and by now the adrenaline is starting to fade and the pain meds aren't doing half as good of a job at keeping your battered body a vague thought at the back of your mind. Your cheek and eye throb as a timely reminder, the gash in your arm beginning to ache, so you take a deep breath and get off of Jacob, refusing to look at him as you tuck your knife away to concentrate on your current problem: the sniper. "So, what's the plan?"

Jacob takes his time righting himself, stealthily using his scope to look for the sniper before ducking back down again. He grabs both the Chosen jacket and vest you took off and bunches them up, handing one to you and then keeping the other to himself. "They're on high alert, and even though their aim is shit, we're not taking any chances. The first trick won't work as well a second time, so we're going to do a slightly modified version of it.

"I'm gonna get in position while you run distraction. First, I'm gonna throw the vest towards the front of the truck; they'll take aim, but won't fire, probably assuming we're playing with them again. After I throw it, I need you to immediately throw the jacket towards the back end of the truck then sprint in the opposite direction," Jacob nods behind you, past the front end and towards a short cropping of rocks, "As quick as you can, take cover, and leave the rest to me."

You quirk a brow, obviously very dubious, "Could work, but will probably just end with me getting shot in the head." You look down at your wrapped ankle then up at Jacob, "I'm kind of banged up if you haven't noticed."

Jacob scoffs, looking you over, particularly in your very bruised face, "Can't help but notice, but you're athletic, fit. No doubt you've been through worse." Jacob begins getting into position, his rifle held in one hand while the other holds the Chosen vest.

That doesn't quell your worries in the least, "Why can't _you_ run distraction?" You look him over with just as much scrutiny as he did you, "It's not like you're out of shape; you've got muscle and thick legs, even if you're old as shit."

Jacob smirks, "You been checking me out, Rookie?"

You'd like to say you're disgusted, that you've never in your life thought about Jacob during those pent up, lonely nights in the woods and how it'd feel if he just grabbed you and- _OK, no! Not the time to fantasize._ You shake your head as if to rid yourself of the thought and then ball the jacket in your hands tighter, "Maybe getting shot won't be so bad this time around."

A chuckle, though with Jacob you can never tell the sincerity of the sound, "I guess you'd know all about that, huh, Dep?"

You quirk a brow, slightly amused, "Right back at you."

Nothing more is said, but you can tell Jacob isn't exactly pleased with your response by the way his gaze sharpens. He shrugs it off though and gives you a nod, "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"On three, remember the plan." Jacob looks at you and begins the countdown, "One," You bounce on the balls of your feet, noting the slight twinge in your ankle, but deciding to ignore it. No use in focusing on it, not right now. "Two," Jacob rears his hand back, nods once, "Three," and chucks the vest over your head.

A shot follows, but you're too focused on the plan to care. You throw the jacket past Jacob where he's already in position, and turn on your heel and run like hell.

The cover seems farther than it did before now that you're out in the open with a sniper lurking over the hill. Still, you sprint, muscles aching and heart pounding against your rib cage as your mind replays the same words over and over again, _This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea. This is-_

You hear a shot, and fall to the ground, almost reaching the cover, but not quite. _Shit!_ You scramble, trying to get to your feet again, but stop short when you see a red laser dot pointed at your midsection just a little too late. Another shot and you drop to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week has kicked my ass very thoroughly, so i'm sorry, i kno i said there was going to be a double update today, but right now i think it's better if i get back to working on the whole slew of requests i've been slowly chipping away at for the past few months and then get back to this story so i can focus better.


End file.
